San Jose Rain

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I return to the wonder bowl of the West, the Bay, with its invisible topology that boggles my mind - I have a hard time judging distances here - for the second and final visit to Silicon Valley, where I'm struggling against long odds to diagnose a WiFi problem. 

In San Jose as I leave the airport, it is raining. On the cab ride to Fremont, I'm looking at those desolate hills southeast of the Bay in Milpitas County, and I detect a hue of green where, one month back, there was only thirsty brown. It would seem that the country, the flora, is awake, brimming with the prospect of spring, so juxtaposed against my memories of long, dry summer days. It must happen every year: arid summer days that shrivel, desiccate, turn to paper and flake away to reveal Autumn, moon cool nights and December, electric winter. (I hope the people here have enough sense to use LED bulbs in their faux icicle holiday lights. Humbug.) The bright, young green of the grass - the green of hope not envy - bears the promise of lush warmth, which I welcome after an early and already grueling Eastern winter, but this is not my spring. In fact, it is likely that the worst of the cold winter days are yet to come for my home in North Carolina, maybe here too, since I see gum trees with leaves that look like they're just turning for the winter. Can that be true? Is fall so delayed here?

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